Memory
by LythTaeraneth
Summary: Harry's life is falling apart but Draco seems to be able to make it better. But Draco's life is falling apart solely because of Harry. songfic to Memory by Sugarcult HPDM Slash, if you couldn't tell.
1. Feelings Insincere

Disclaimer: Not mine!  
  
NOTE: Alright, so, here you go, folks. This is one that, while perhaps not a tear-jerker, is still going to make you all sad. So, now, please enjoy while I write about plums as I sit in my ivory tower. Also, I just got my best friend to scream "I LIVE IN AN IVORY TOWER!" While she sits in the library. Okay, so that no one can say I didn't warn them . . . THIS IS SLASH! Male-male relationship, homosexuality, etcetera. But, hey, no worries, it's not explicit. (sadly) Also, this was based on the song 'Memory' by Sugarcult.  
  
R&R!  
  
..............................................  
  
This may never start.  
  
We could fall apart.  
  
And I'd be your memory.  
  
Lost your sense of fear.  
  
Feelings insincere.  
  
Can I be your memory?  
  
..............................................  
  
Draco felt Harry's lips cover his own, and it felt right. He felt Harry's body press his own into the ungiving stone wall, and that, too, felt right. How could anyone give them the looks they did? How could his mother threaten to disown him? This couldn't possibly be the cause of anything distasteful. Even as Draco grabbed Harry by the shoulders and took charge, controlling the snogging as much possible, it still felt right.  
  
And as Harry whimpered into his mouth, was it still right? As he asked Draco If he loved him later on while they watched the sun bleed into the sky, was it still right? And when Draco said he did with a sick feeling in his stomach, was it still right? As Harry kissed him so that he couldn't ask if he loved him too, was it still so right and perfect? Was it still the cause of nothing distasteful?  
  
It didn't matter; they'd done it a million mornings before.  
  
He and Harry got up that day and did what they always did. They snogged each other senseless and then left, walking into the Great Hall side by side. Had it really only been a few months since the Dark Lord had been vanquished and the papers had started reporting the captures of Death Eaters? Wealth had not saved his father, and he was currently serving life in Azkaban. Draco didn't care. Everyone stared when the entered, and Draco cared. There was no surprise there, but his stomach crawled. They each went to their respective tables. The Slytherins scooted away from Draco as though he had the plague, and, with the exception of a pale Hermione Granger and a vaguely green Ronald Weasely, as did the Gryffindors from Harry.  
  
Was he supposed to live like this? Harry . . . Harry was gorgeous. Pouting, pink lips; vibrantly green eyes; wild, inky hair; smooth, tanned flesh . . . What more could he have asked for? But Harry didn't get it. Harry wasn't afraid of anything. He'd faced Voldermort seven times – two in this year alone – so _why_ would _he_ be afraid of what everyone thought? Harry was the strong, brave one. Draco was the one that recoiled every time he thought about Harry and himself together. But, then again, if Harry was so strong, why didn't he ever let Draco ask if he loved him? Surely a hero with battle-scars to prove it was tough enough to tell a weak, unearthly boy that he was loved.  
  
Draco stared dismally at his plate and then looked up to see that there was a basket of fresh fruit in front of him. He took a plum. This love was like this plum. The first bite was sweet and juicy, and so was the second, but eventually you ate the top layer and had nothing but the unsavory meat that was pungent with the taste of the pit, which was absolutely inedible. You simply had to throw it away after that, even though it left you unsatisfied with sticky fingers. You just knew when you took the first bite, though, how it was going to be. There was . . . nothing left.  
  
It was dreadful . . . how could this be happening? As foolish as it was, Draco had loved Harry. And Draco had always felt that Harry loved him, even though he'd never said it. Harry couldn't kiss him the way he did unless he loved him. He couldn't have held him the way he did unless he loved him. The savior of the wizarding world wouldn't talk to someone the way he did to Draco unless he was in love. Why would he suffer through the way everyone was acting towards him and the disgruntled looks on his friends' faces if he didn't _love_ Draco? So why did he feel so empty when he thought of Harry's hands on him . . . Why did he feel squeamish when he thought of Harry's lips brushing against his own? Why did he suddenly feel like he was drowning when he looked over at Harry's sleeping form at night?  
  
He knew, but Merlin how he wished he didn't.  
  
He wondered how Harry would think of him after today – because, surely, it had to be today – or if he even would. Would Harry remember his lover that would sometimes wake up while he stroked his pale hair? Would he remember the unsure boy that had kissed him spontaneously for the first time in the Owlery? Would he remember the quiet troubled young man that Draco had become of late? Or maybe all he'd be able to remember was the broken, fallen angel that told him they were stupid to think it would have ever worked. Yes, in all likelihood he would hear the name 'Draco Malfoy' and think of how the strands of hair had fallen carelessly, and of how Draco's voice had had absolutely no emotion. All he would be able to think of Draco's eyes would be how hollow they'd been just then.  
  
He'd wonder why Draco had broken it off. He'd wonder why he'd stood there not saying anything. He'd wonder if he should have done something to prevent it. He'd wonder if he should have asked why, or seen it coming. He'd wonder what Draco had been trying so desperately to say with his eyes – because Draco was sure he couldn't tell. He'd wonder why a single tear had hung at the inner corner of Draco's eye, since he was the one ending it. He'd wonder if Draco had even wanted to break it off. Yes, Draco knew exactly what Harry would think as soon as he got over the shock. And this he had no emotion for.  
  
And Draco did it.  
  
Draco pulled Harry aside after breakfast. He had watched like a shell as Harry smiled warmly and told his friends he'd catch up with them. He'd listened as Harry made a lewd joke and then listened to himself cut right to the chase, as though he wasn't controlling his body at all. Everything was hazy and Draco thought he was going to pass out, but he didn't. He had looked at Harry as his face became a perfect, adorable mask of surprise. Even the best of artists would have like to be able to display such emotion. Draco had no emotion to display. He could feel his throat rumbling out the words he knew he'd say. He felt his stomach churn and a tear form in one eye. But his face was like a pristine porcelain mask, and it didn't change. The wheels in his head were jammed.  
  
"Draco . . ." Harry half-whispered, half-choked.  
  
"Draco isn't here for you anymore. I'm Malfoy to you, and you're Potter to me."  
  
Draco turned and walked slowly away. As soon as he turned the corner he ran to the nearest loo and was violently ill.  
  
That had gone well.  
  
.......................................  
  
NOTE: No, this was not a one shot. This isn't going to get any dirtier than it was just now so no worries. If you were offended or displeased then, by all means, flame me. It's been way too long since I got a flame!  
  
This is not my first slash fic, but it is the first one I've posted here. It's the first one that's not explicit (not saying much because I've only done one). I like reading Draco/Harry and I hope you have enjoyed reading this. The next chapter will be from Harry's POV, so we'll get his side of the story.  
  
Harry: The sex was _so **good**_!  
  
Draco: I'm so unloved!  
  
Harry: I always loved you, Draco!  
  
Draco: I'm Malfoy, not Draco to you!  
  
:: Simultaneous sobbing ::  
  
Yeah, I'm a freak. Deal. 


	2. Holding on to Feel the Same

Disclaimer: Not Mine!  
  
NOTE: Okay, I apologize for the wait, folks, but here it is. This chapter will be done from Harry's POV and will be based on the Chorus of 'Memory' by Sugarcult. This will be the only time I use the Chorus for Harry's POV. Also, loves, you can listen to the song as much as you like and get a general feel for where this is going but I'm the author and you never know what deviations I might take! Funnily enough, I don't own that CD, nor do I have the song readily available on my computer, so if I want to listen to it I have to settle for this weird version of it. Not that you care.  
  
Thanks to:

Angel: I appreciate the review!!! You're the very first person to review this.  
  
Potterfan8807: I think the point was to be dramatic and foreboding but soap- opera-ish works too! Thanks for the review!  
  
Tsuyuno: Really? I'm glad it's not a one shot too. So the update wasn't exactly _soon_ but it's good enough.  
  
GothicAnn87: Why thank you! You know, I really am proud of the style of this one. I'll see about those fics, okay? ::Wink::  
  
Anyway, here I give you the Golden Boy of Gryffindor.  
  
..............................................  
  
So get back, back, back to where we lasted.  
  
Just like I imagine.  
  
I could never feel this way.  
  
So get back, back, back to the disaster.  
  
My heart's beating faster.  
  
Holding on to feel the same.  
  
..............................................  
  
Shock. Complete and total. When he had defeated Voldermort he had gone into shock; when Draco had kissed him for the very first time he had gone into shock; so it only makes sense that when Draco stood there and stonily told him that they were finished, that he couldn't handle this relationship because it just wasn't working, and that, in fact, they couldn't possibly have been 'meant to be', he went into shock. He just stared as Draco stood there, ripped out his heart and trampled it into the stones of Hogwarts.  
  
This wasn't how it was supposed to be. Draco was supposed to love him. Draco was supposed to need him. He certainly needed Draco. Even as he stood there, that much was evident. A mountain, a sea, a world of things he should have done just now toppled over him. Why had he let Draco slip through his fingers like that? Draco was everything just now. At 18 years old Harry had already fulfilled his only purpose in life, and now he didn't have Draco. Why did he feel so confused inside?  
  
Draco . . . gods, Draco . . . he was blind, wasn't? Oh yes, that's right, he was Malfoy again. Harry stared bitterly down the hallway several minutes later. He stalked towards advanced potions without realizing it. He'd left him . . . it was unbelievable. _Draco_ broke up with _Harry_! But he hadn't screwed up or around . . . He hadn't said anything he shouldn't have . . . so why? Was he really that unhappy? Wasn't Harry _good enough_ for him? Wasn't Harry good enough **to** him? Harry hadn't neglected him . . . Harry hadn't suffocated him. So what went wrong?  
  
Draco went wrong, that's what. Draco and his stupid green-in-the- face, white-around-the-mouth 'I-love-you's, _that_ was bloody what! Yeah, Harry saw it. Harry saw everything. Everything except why Draco left. Harry saw that he hated saying it. He just didn't know why. He didn't know why he asked, either. He never meant to. It just sort of . . . slipped out. Damn Draco into Hell . . . Harry wasn't as invincible as he assumed. He sat down in potions, miserably noticing the fact that Draco wasn't there. Draco was being bloody coward.  
  
His friends pestered him about it in the commons. What did Draco say? _Nothing_. What's wrong? _Nothing_. Is it all okay Harry? _Yeah, it's fine._ Harry . . . do you want us to beat him up? _No._ Godric he didn't want anything. No . . . He wanted something. He wanted Draco to tell him it was just a bad joke. He wanted to go to sleep and wake up to find it wasn't real. He wanted to wake up to find out it was just a nightmare and there was a pale-skinned, pale-haired, pale-eyed boy lying asleep next to him. He felt cold all of a sudden and decided to get a head start on sleeping away his worries. When he woke up Draco would probably be nuzzling him for warmth and muttering sleepily 'wrap me up, you git. You always steal the blankets.' Thinking lazily about curve of Draco's neck, and the way his mouth parted ever so slightly and his brows knitted into a tiny frown as he slept, Harry drifted off into dreamland, and, just as he did, the same syllable that came again and again, though he wouldn't remember it in the morning, slipped into his mind. **_Love_**  
  
Upon waking, Harry was still alone in his large bed in the Head Boy's suite. Of course, Harry was Head Boy. Who better for the job? Despite the fire that crackled in a defiantly merry way, he was cold. Despite the nice crimson furniture and numerous tapestries, the room was empty. That was lunacy! Draco was just some bloke. How could one person make any difference in how the bloody room felt? How could one person make him feel so . . . lost? What was _he_ so empty? No, that was ridiculous. Harry could find some other bloke. Merlin, Harry might even be able to find a girl. Yeah . . . in fact, Harry would go up to Padma Patil today and ask her out. He knew _she_ was single. It wasn't his style, she wasn't his type, but he had to try and get back on track. Obsessing over Dr- . . . _his ex_ wasn't going to help anything.  
  
He made a point to dress in the nicest set of school robes he had, as well as to polish his 'Head Boy' badge and pin it to his chest. He brushed his hair to no avail, cleaned his glasses on the hem of his sleeve, and set off down to the Great Hall. Who needed some pointy faced git anyway? But then he saw Draco, sitting at the Slytherin table, surrounded by his fellows for the first time in months, his confidence sunk along with his stomach. Draco wasn't a pointy faced git . . . he was an absolute vision. Not even Botticelli could touch that. He shook his head roughly and put on a grin to go sit by Ron and Hermione.  
  
Immediately Hermione frowned. "Harry, what's going on? Dra-"  
  
"Malfoy and I aren't together any more, Mione." A scowl grew on Harry's face and writhing began somewhere in his bowels. "You don't have to call him by his first name any more."  
  
The both of them looked shocked and Harry's insides continued to wage war.  
  
"But, Harry, you two . . . I thought . . ." Ron stumbled along.  
  
"Harry, is this why you were so upset yesterday?" Hermione gave him a sad, questioning look and placed her hand lightly on his forearm.  
  
His stomach gave what had to be its most daring move yet.  
  
"Oh look, Padma just walked in. I'll be right back." He stood up with a bright smile.  
  
This did _not_ feel right. He threw a side-glance over at the Slytherin table where a pair of grey eyes was watching him. A pair of mercurially grey eyes . . . that he was no longer allowed to gaze into, wondering why he was never good at reading those things. He focused his sight ahead of him. A pretty, olive-skinned, raven-haired, chocolate-eyed, well-endowed girl seemed to notice that he was smiling congenially at and approaching her.  
  
"Good Morning." He had to look down at her as she was at least five inches shorter than he. There wasn't this height difference with Dr-Malfoy, but he liked it better this way. Yes, yes, of course he did. Denial, it always works.  
  
"Good Morning." He received a look of surveillance.  
  
"You're single, right?" Ah, Harry, Harry, Harry, the copying of other boys' lines is such a sad state of affairs. Then again he couldn't just stutter through this like he normally would. He had to go for confidence, arrogance even. He had to be the charming savior of the wizarding world.  
  
"Yes . . ." She shifted suspiciously. "Why do you ask?"  
  
"Because I'd like you to go out with me." He gave her a grin, hiding the sinking feeling in his gut. He felt dirty, suddenly.  
  
"Everyone knows you're seeing Malfoy." She rolled her eyes.  
  
"Not anymore." He continued smiling. Why did it feel like there had been a small explosion in his stomach? That wasn't supposed to happen when you sounded as happy as he did.  
  
"Really?" Her face lit up.  
  
"Really," despite himself Harry liked the look on her face. He just needed a nice girl like Padma. He'd get over this just like a case of the flu. "So will you go out with me?"  
  
"Of course I'll go out with you!" She attached herself to Harry's arm.  
  
She was discomforting him. The looks Ron and Hermione were giving him were discomforting him. They were the same looks they'd had when they'd first found out about Malfoy. Padma was suffocating him . . . thank Godric they didn't have many classes together.  
  
Thirty-six hours more proved that classes truly were the only places he could escape her constant attention. 7 o'clock had found them snogging in a broom closet, and 8 o'clock brought the only time Harry had ever retreated from anyone. Drowsiness was a great excuse. At eleven the Harry's bedroom was screaming at him. He couldn't sleep with all that noise, so he left. He draped his invisibility cloak over himself, and left. He needed to clear his head. Maybe he'd take a nice, long walk. He needed to forget everything. Everything, everything, everything to do with . . .  
  
He gasped audibly.  
  
Draco . . .  
  
"Is that _you_, Potter?" He sneered. That wasn't the type of voice that _should_ be coming out of that mouth.  
  
"Yeah," Harry whipped off the cloak, wearing a mask of aloofness.  
  
"Taking a late night stroll, I presume." The angel was for some reason hostile.  
  
"You always liked those didn't you?" His mind wasn't functioning properly anymore. His heart was pounding in his throat. His stomach was doing back handsprings. When _would_ his organs cease this tirade against him?  
  
Flashes of the breakup were blinding him. The things Draco had said were buzzing in his ears. No . . . they weren't together any more. _Obviously_, Draco didn't _actually_ care for him. So why had he looked so sad? Why did he look so upset now?  
  
"In fact, yes. Of course, they're better when uninterrupted." The blonde brows flew upwards.  
  
There it was. The old malice with a new edge.  
  
"Does it have to be this way?" He whispered, not sure whether or not Draco should hear.  
  
He really shouldn't feel this way. He should be indignant, he should be angry, not . . . broken. He just couldn't hate Draco. He couldn't. He just absolutely couldn't. Not after kissing him and meaning it. Not after running his hands over every inch of him. Not after listening to him moan his name in the most beautiful way. Harry couldn't fight it any more. He couldn't tell himself otherwise. He couldn't make it without Draco. Not really. He might be alive, but he wouldn't live . . . not without Draco.  
  
...................................................  
  
NOTE: Argh . . . do you people know how hard I have to work to get into the mood to write in this style? No? Well it involves an hour long shower, turning off all the lights so that the only available illumination is the harsh glow of my computer screen, and then spacing out to the 'punk goes acoustic' version of 'Memory' until I am seeing flashes of Harry and Draco crying and/or making out. Then I have to work myself into a mild state of depression over their situation . . . I have to live in their world before I can write. So, that would be why it's past midnight.  
  
If you consider this a cliff hanger then . . . HA! I smite you. Yes, that's a period not an exclamation mark. Ugh . . . now I have to sleep off this self-induced trance before I do something stupid. Or just get bored. You'll get more after I update Love is Misery's Mask and Taint It. Ciao.


	3. I'll Tear Us Apart

Disclaimer: Not Mine

Note: Shit. Yes, shit. This is the story talking, not the author. So remember that as I respond to your reviews.

sak: Thank you, sak. It's nice to have readers that are so supportive and serious. It's nice to hear something other than 'oh my god, only one chapter?' like with one of my other fics. Thanks a million.

CassandraRaven: Thank you; You're welcome; yes; yes; I'm not telling; of course I'm continuing it; Oh, okay; I see, yes.

Pazza: I love you . . . Thank you. For everything. And, please, babble all you want. It's fun to read.

---------------------

This may never start.  
I'll tear us apart.  
Can I be your enemy?  
Losing half our year.  
Waiting for you here  
I'd be your anything.

------------------

No. No. NononoNoNoNONONONO**NO**! Draco could see that pleading look in Harry's eyes. Those beautiful, bright eyes were begging to be taken back. As those lips issued a barely audible question, they pleaded to be kissed; to be crushed and crumpled under Draco's. Harry's hand was, almost of its own volition, slowly reaching out, asking quietly to touch him once more.

Love me. Please, please love me. Love me again. Harry emanated this.

It wasn't that Draco didn't love Harry. It's that Harry didn't love Draco. No, no, he never had. He'd _wanted_ Draco, though. He was just a selfish child. He might not love his toys, but he still wanted them. Well too tough, Harry! Not everyone was cut out to be a toy.

The world wouldn't wait for him, damn it! Draco couldn't do that. Draco just couldn't do that. He couldn't sacrifice everything. He couldn't sacrifice himself. Not to someone he wasn't sure even fucking cared. Harry would get other stupid toys. He'd get toys that would wait on him hand and foot. He'd get toys that'd soak up every word he said. He already had one, the whore.

"You know damn well it does, Potter. It was just a fling that went too far. Get over yourself. Suck it up and be a man already, won't you? You've got a girlfriend already, right?" Draco spat. "Somehow, that doesn't make me think that you cared too much." He watched with gut wrenching satisfaction as Harry's eyes widened, then hardened instantly. "See, it's nothing. You made a big mistake if you _ever_ thought our little 'relationship' was worth a thing. We're exactly what we've always been, now. It was an intermission from the inevitable, Potter; but now things are exactly what they're supposed to be."

"Yeah." It was angry and threatening in the quiet way of vengeance. "Yeah, just like they should be. I guess you're just a stupid Slytherin after all. I should have known you weren't worth my time."

And then there was no Harry. The invisibility cloak he must have had with him was thrown back on and a loud rushing noise told Draco that he'd fled. Good. That was exactly what Draco had wanted. Exactly. He and Harry simply had to remain enemies. He had to insult Harry and his parents and his friends at every opportunity. Harry had to hate him. Harry had to want to haul off and knock his lights out. They had to desperately want each other dead. They had to. No, really, they had to.

But if so, why was Draco on his knees, tears running silently down his face?

It wasn't supposed to happen like this . . . Draco wasn't supposed to fall in love, much less with Harry Potter; much less with the-boy-who-would-always-live-even-without-him.

----

There was just over one month until school ended. It had been six months by then . . . _Six months_. Six months without Harry's kisses, without Harry's touches, without Harry's body next to his on the bed at night. Six months of 'don't let me wake up to this'. It was just over one month until he was graduated. Just over one month until he was on his own in the big wide world that was ready to chew him up and spit him out, cold and alone. Just over one month until it was infinitely easier for Harry to avoid ever laying eyes on him again.

Draco went to pieces after every verbal spar with Harry, though Merlin forbid anyone ever found out. It was easy to ditch whatever useless housemate tried to follow him. They had all taken him back when it was let loose that _he_ had broken it off. After every class with Harry he'd have a breakdown in a bathroom stall with nothing but the dark stones to comfort him. Nothing but the immovable, unchanging stones to stand as silent witnesses to the crime of psychological torture he committed upon himself each and every day. Boys didn't stick around in the loo like girls did.

So many times . . . so, so many times Draco wanted to run up to Harry and cling desperately to robes, begging to be forgiven. He wanted to scream over and over again that he hadn't meant it. He wanted to tell him that he loved him until his voice was raspy and his throat was sore. He loved him so much. Day by day Draco slowly inched closer to the edge of what one soul can take. Night by night Draco wandered aimlessly hoping to any and every deity that Harry would be there again, with his eyes begging to be taken back, and night by night he lost hope. It became glaringly obvious that Harry didn't want to bump into him like that again.

Gradually he was reaching a point of wretchedness. Bit by bit, he was beginning to think that he didn't care whether or not Harry loved him. If Harry acted like he loved Draco, and Harry kissed him, touched him, and held him like he loved him, what was the difference? What were three little words, anyway? It didn't matter. He needed Harry's arms wrapped around him. He needed Harry to ask him if he loved him as dawn spread a bloody light along the horizon. He needed Harry in every way he could get Harry.

But Harry still held that anger. He didn't want to be around Draco. Harry didn't love him. Harry didn't even _act_ like he loved him. Harry was exactly like he was before that night in the Owlery. He was angry and argumentative. He spat out hard words. He raised he wand and threw nasty curses. Harry had that gleam in his eye that said he wanted his hands wrapped around Draco's neck.

And, little by little, Draco began to convince himself that so long as Harry noticed when he was breathing, it was okay. He began to feel that, as long he was in Harry's thoughts, everything was fine. Draco still consumed Harry. Draco was still the main thing that kept Harry's thoughts away from that final battle and everything that went with it. Even if it was negatively, Harry was thinking more often of Draco than of anyone else. Even more than the girls he dated. More than any of those airhead girls. Draco was indispensable as an extreme for Harry's emotions. Sure, he wasn't the lover any more, but even as an enemy, he had much more control over Harry's emotions than any of those girls. He still knew more about Harry than any of those girls.

Those girls . . . Harry might screw those stupid girls, but eventually Harry dumped them and hardly looked at them again. Harry looked at _him_ every day. Harry thought about _him_ every day. Harry was lit up with complete and total passion, a passion that made even the Sun shrink back, about _him_ every day. Sure, it wasn't the same passion it used to be. It wasn't a passion that made them kiss and roll in thick blankets of Harry's bed, but it looked like it enough. Harry's eyes sparkled and got darker. His face flushed. He made a lot of noise. It was a lot like it.

Sometimes, as Harry hovered over him, about to make a retort, Draco felt the craziest urge to kiss him, because they weren't in a hallway, and they weren't arguing; they were in Harry's room, and the were on the bed. Sometimes, he managed to feel that nothing was wrong.

Sometimes Harry pinned him to a wall, bristling and angry, doing his very best not to smash Draco's face in, and Draco was home. Home because Harry wasn't angry, he was anxious. Harry didn't want to hurt Draco; Harry wanted to toss him on the bed. For a minute, they were where they were supposed to be, if only in Draco's mind.

Even when Harry was yelling at him, even when Harry was telling him how pathetic he was, Draco was delighted inside. Somehow, even though Harry was calling him the most horrible things he could think to call him, Draco felt loved. As long as Harry was thinking of him and nothing but him for at least a moment, Draco could believe that, if only for that moment, Harry loved him. Who cares how he was thinking of him?

He riled Harry up day after day just to see him flush, just to see the green eyes deepen, just to be everything to Harry for a minute or two. He'd do anything; say anything, hit below the belt, just to get that feeling deep inside. If it made Harry forget the weather and the people around him, it was enough. If Harry was forgetting everything but Draco, it was enough; it was love.

----------------

Note: You know, I do these updates quicker than any others. I have to work really hard to get into it, but then I really get into it. I am the story. I think I'd kill anyone that tried to take this story and post it as their own . . . I now understand what it is to live in a story. You don't just live _in_ the story; you live _as_ the story.

Now excuse me as I kill that fucking squirrel that's chirruping outside my goddamned window . . .


	4. Tearing Out My Heart

Disclaimer: Not mine, I'm not making money, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera . . .

Note: This is the story again. Well . . . my hair is in wild, damp ringlets; I'm wearing a tight tank top even though it's December; I've got a fucking cough; and I'm listening to Something Corporate: Me and the Moon . . . until I get a hold of the regular song, anyway. At any rate, thanks to:

No One: You guys can all go to Hell. I can't believe none of you reviewed. You suck. I'm only writing this because I enjoy it. You can all go write your own fucking fanfiction. Review **_that_**, Bitch.

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This may never start  
Tearing out my heart  
I'd be your memory  
Lost your sense of fear  
(I'd be your memory)  
Feelings disappear  
Can I be your memory?

-------------------------

Harry punched at the stone walls of Hogwarts. They did nothing and he retaliated, kicking and screaming . . . and sobbing. He ripped down the garish tapestry on the adjacent wall and jettisoned it through the bathroom door where it crashed into the mirror. Tiny pieces of glass painted with nickel and mercury tinkled as they ricocheted against the floor.

"Damn these walls!" Harry clawed at the cruel rock. "Damn this _castle_!" He flung himself against that damnable thing. The golden boy slid slowly down onto the ground—into himself—crying for his bloody hands, for his aching bones, and for the reason he was in the state he was. "Damn _you_, Draco . . ."

The stone and mortar stood as it always did: pitiless and uncompassionate. What did it care for the-boy-who-lived? He'd done what he'd come for hadn't he? So what was the use of him anymore? No one needed him now—least of all Draco. Draco . . . That bastard didn't even care what Harry said to him anymore. It was as if every insult Harry threw was nothing—as if Draco didn't even take him seriously. He looked more like he enjoyed it. _Fucksake, I can't even insult him right. First I couldn't love him right, and now I can't hate him right. Damn it. _Sometimes, just sometimes, Harry wished he could turn back time.

But did Draco care? Of course not! Nope, Draco tore him to shreds and then gave that little, disarming smile when Harry tried to fight back. That stupid, beautiful smile. And then the minute Harry turned around or let go Draco ran. Like he didn't want a thing to do with him. Probably didn't. He was, after all, the one who ended; the one who started it, the one who ended it . . . as though Harry had no say in the matter at all. That was Draco, though, Harry supposed: waltzing in and out of peoples lives as he saw fit. But you can't waltz without leaving footprints . . . in this case, all over Harry's mutilated heart.

It seemed like the only time Harry could even get Draco to look in his direction was if he was pushing him against a wall, spewing every insult known to man. Draco didn't love him, and he never had. Now, though, Draco didn't even fear him. In fact, Draco didn't even seem to _hate_ him. Draco probably didn't even _think_ of him on a regular basis.

For months Harry had been dating girls left and right. He'd even dated Luna Lovegood. That hadn't been too bad—in fact it had been pretty nice—but there came a point when she, too, just wasn't . . . Draco. That was ruining all of his relationships, lately. And after each one he'd go up to his rooms and get into a fuss. Like he just had. And, of course, the one being in school that _was_ Draco didn't even bat an _eyelash_ on his account. _Not one golden eyelash over one grey eye_.

"I hate pale. I hate grey. Most of all, though, _I hate gold_; Dr-Malfoy's gold anyway." He told the footboard of his bed; it didn't look like it believed him.

He sighed and stood up. His shoes crunched and ground the smashed glass on the bathroom floor as he turned on the water to sting his hands. He watched red spiral with the water like poison until it trickled into the drain. He roughly dried his hands then grabbed the invisibility cloak: Harry needed a walk.

Of course, it wasn't until Harry was ascending the steps to the astronomy tower that he realized how long it'd been since he went out past curfew just for a _walk_. Lately he'd been . . . otherwise occupied. The Marauders' Map was in his back pocket but he hadn't looked at it all night: he didn't need to. It was a Monday night so there almost definitely were no silly couples snogging in the tower. Everyone in his _right_ mind was asleep. It had to be AM. Somehow, Harry found he didn't care. It was a beautiful night; Harry could smell it from where he was.

Harry bound up the last few steps and must have misjudged where on the spiral staircase he was, because he bound through the tower's luckily opened doorway onto it's unluckily occupied roof—more accurately, into the other occupant. For a moment he wasn't sure who it was. It could have been anyone. Harry took a deep breath and adjusted his glasses as the world spun back into place. Suddenly he felt the contours of the body he was entwined with. And he knew them. _Well_.

He didn't move—didn't want to. Draco wouldn't know who it was, anyway. It wasn't as though Draco was facing him._ If I run . . .?_ Harry wondered. But instantly he shot it down. He hadn't felt Draco like this in what seemed like ten eternities. Merlin, He hadn't been in the same room as Draco _alone_ since that night in the halls. And that really wasn't a room, anyway. Then again nor was this. _But, _Harry thought_, this is better. Under the stars . . . with Draco. _Harry looked at what he could see of Draco—his angel. Harry looked at the nape of Draco's neck and at the soft wisps of golden hair being teased in the breeze.

And just like that Harry's lips betrayed him.

"Draco . . ." He whispered against the golden down.

His ears heard this and his mind was horrified. _I blew it! Shite!_ _What have you done?_ But no movement came from the boy in his arms right away.

"Harry . . ."

At the sound of his name from Draco's lips Harry began kissing softly at the neck before him. Draco tensed. Instinctively, Harry pulled Draco closer to comfort him. _Don't do this, don't do this!_ Harry's mind was screaming. But his heart and body objected.

"Harry," Draco squirmed in Harry's arms and sat up, not looking at him, "do you . . . do you love me?"

Harry froze. The words were caught in his throat. Things were replaying in his head and thoughts were pouring through him. But loudest of all was the sweetest thought of all. Through foggy eyes Harry saw his hand snake up to cradle Draco's chin and turn the angel's face to him. His other arm was levering him up while his eyes moved not from the two tearful ones he knew so well . . .

"Yes."

And Harry didn't close his eyes until he was sure he couldn't focus, because he didn't want to ever miss one minute of Draco. Two pairs of blushing pilgrims found each other sweetly, and silently, and just a little hungrily. Draco's body pressed itself down to Harry's and the kiss went on . . . warm, and perhaps a little sticky; but in the fingertips that massaged their ways into hair, and in the kiss that was more than just making up there was something that Harry couldn't _quite_ wrap his arms around though he was sailing on the crest of it: **love**.

……………………………………………………

Note: Don't you dare think that was the end. Oh no, I'm not done with you yet—not by a long shot.

And a Happy New Year.


	5. My Heart's Beating Faster

Disclaimer: Not Mine.

Note: Welcome to the final chapter of _Memory_. There will be no sequel. There will be no epilogue. What you see is what you get. Oh, and I said it wasn't going to get any dirtier than the first chapter . . **. I might have lied a _little_**. I'd like to say something to:

Rtael: Shame on you. I've written all of my best work while on the verge of completely passing out.

doxie: Enjoy. Your e-mail confused me—mostly because you were acting like you weren't sure whether or not you should be talking to me. . . it was honestly kind of creepy. But mostly confusing.

Lucky Dragon Smile: Thank you. Bunches. ::bites off the head of a stale gingerbread man::

* * *

So get back, back, back to where we lasted  
Just like I imagine  
I could never feel this way  
So get back, back, back to the disaster  
My heart's beating faster  
Holding on to feel the same

* * *

Draco could feel his blood racing through his veins. He could feel Harry's hands in his hair. He could feel Harry's mouth on his own. And he tasted like intoxication.

And in the beauty of the moment it didn't matter if Draco's thoughts made sense or not. That was part of Harry's beauty: it didn't have to make sense. The anger, the kisses, the sadness, the insecurity . . . it didn't have to make sense. Draco didn't need to know why he'd been unsatisfied. Draco didn't need to know why Harry had flitted from girl to girl. They didn't have to explain anything. Not to themselves, not to each other, not to anyone. It just didn't matter. None of those dung piles that tried to judge them, none of the adults that tried to tear them apart . . . they simply didn't matter. Certainly not when Harry was kissing him like this.

_I should have known I could never keep away from him . . ._

Then there were lips ghosting across Draco's collar bone. "Never leave me again . . ." There was heat there, but more so there was desperation.

"Never . . ." Draco pulled the warmth close to him. That was Harry . . . a candle.

"No, never," Harry was insisting. Strong hands were set against Draco's hip bones and the corresponding lips were leaving burning trails on Draco's neck.

"Harry . . ." Draco moaned breathily, pulling Harry closer. And this seemed to ignite him.

"Oh, Draco . . ." Harry's arms slid under Draco's shirt with a sudden passion.

Then Draco was lost on Harry's fingertips. He was melting into his lover's lips but it wasn't enough—he ached to melt into Harry entirely. He didn't want to be with Harry; he wanted to _be_ Harry. There was a sudden burst of sharp air as Harry deftly undressed him, but Harry made up for it. Harry's lips seemed to be everywhere and his hands anywhere that could have possibly been missed. There was a heat in their movements. Draco's hands were reaching out for Harry—hungry for the body they had long been denied of. Draco was gone in a haze of kisses and a familiar rhythm but Harry was with him. There seemed to be nothing in the world but the fire, the sweetness, the sheen, and the rhythm—the rhythm that was around him, and on him . . . _and in him_.

There were waves of pleasure crashing over him—flames of it licking at him—as Harry moved just so.

And Draco was departed; desperately alone for a moment in a miasma of limitlessness. Then he was back and he could feel Harry breathing as they clung to each other. Draco was damp, and he was sticky, and he was feeling hot and cold at once, but he couldn't have been more comfortable and nothing was better. He was oozing inside, but he was oozing with Harry.

"Have I told you lately," Harry's forehead was pressed to Draco's, "that you are the most gorgeous being on Earth?"

"Not lately, no."

"Well, you are." Harry ran a hand along Draco's cheek.

Draco leaned into it. "No, you are. You're the sexiest thing ever born."

"Oh, let's not start _this_ now." Harry wrapped his arms around Draco and rolled so that he was on top of the paler boy. "Right now I just want to kiss you."

And at the sight of Harry, hovering naked above him with a steal-your-heart-away grin plastered on his face, slick and glowing from sex . . .

"So kiss me, you git!"

………

Draco sighed as he lay in bed. Harry's bed. His and Harry's bed. He had practically moved into the Head Boy's suite. As he laid there Harry bent over to get something out of his lowest drawer.

Draco whistled.

Harry shot up, beet red. "What am I, a piece of meat?"

"Well," Draco replied lazily, "if you _are_ a piece of meat, you're _my_ piece of meat."

Harry rolled his eyes. Those vibrant eyes.

And, momentarily, Draco panicked. Because he was _too_ happy, and things were going _too_ well. _That_, he chided himself, _is craziness_. He was crazy, though. Harry would always just grin, and kiss his forehead saying 'you're crazy, Draco'. But Harry would look so undeniably sexy telling him this that Draco would have no choice but to grab him, throw him down on the closest horizontal surface, and ravish him. Sometimes Harry was too gorgeous for his own good.

"Draco?" Harry asked as though deep in thought from where he was leaning against his dresser.

"Yes," _Merlin, I want to shag the living daylights out of you_, "Harry?"

"What are we going to do after Hogwarts?"

"Well, I thought _you'd_ have some plans." He propped himself up on his elbows.

"I'm working on mine. What about you?" Harry was looking at him, a slightly anxious manner to him.

"Hm, let's see . . ." Draco rolled onto his back and began to count things off as he thought of them. "Shag Harry Potter . . . Finally get a look at 13 Grimmauld Place . . . Shag Harry Potter some more . . ." Harry was rolling his eyes. "I was thinking maybe I could travel some . . . Nothing terribly definite. Other than shagging you, of course."

Harry was smiling but he still looked pensive. "How would you feel if I said we could live at 13 Grimmauld Place?"

"Curious." Draco replied candidly, before he could help himself.

"Well it's mine." Harry shrugged. "Sirius Black was my godfather." His tone was quiet and somber. "He left it to me."

"You mean when he went to Azkaban?" Draco frowned. He knew Black history—it was his mother's family, after all—and Mrs. Black hadn't died by then.

"When he died." Harry didn't look at him. Then he did, and he was on the verge of tears, which put Draco on the verge of tears. "I guess there's a lot I better tell you, hm?" He looked to a wall.

Draco frowned and yanked the sheets of the bed so that he could was over to Harry. They dragged along the floor.

He stopped less than a foot away from Harry. "Hey," he shook Harry's shoulder. "Come on, Harry," He turned Harry's face to his, "we'll get there later."

Harry was trying very hard to smile through his sorrow and failing very miserably. So Draco covered his mouth with his own—why make Harry worry about it?—and kissed it all away.

But Harry didn't take Draco's offer—an offer to take his mind off of everything. Instead he pulled back and leaned his head on Draco, quietly dampening his shoulder. And, honestly, having Harry so close was making Draco crazy; but they'd get there later.

He didn't worry about anything too much, because Harry was there for him when times got tough. They'd probably fight like normal couples and they'd probably get annoyed with each other every nox and then, but love was immovable. And even beyond the love, Draco needed Harry and Harry needed Draco. They would _never_ be able to be angry for long. Draco knew it. He'd always be able to get one good look into Harry's green eyes and every wrong possible would be forgiven. And for once he knew that Harry felt the exact same way. Draco didn't worry about the fights, though—they'd get there later. The present was a time for holding Harry closer and cooing something to reassure him. It was a time to kiss the top of Harry's head. It was a time to enjoy a different side of Harry—the one that _wasn't_ invincible. It was a time to realize that, in fact, Harry wasn't invincible at all.

Most of all though, it was a time to be stupidly, blindly, passionately, and madly in love. Because this wouldn't last forever. The youth would fade and gold and black alike would become grey. Eventually the hearts that had loved so much would give up on beating and one would last longer than the other. Draco hoped that it wasn't his. He might not like the idea of letting Harry hurt, but even less he liked the idea of having so little of Harry. Draco would, he knew, learn to deal with the loss of Harry's body. He'd learn to deal with the loss of Harry's inky hair. And—Merlin forbid—he might even learn to deal with the loss of sex. But as long as he was alive he'd have Harry's bright eyes—the windows to Harry's even brighter soul. And that, that soul, that electric throb that made Harry Harry was one thing which Draco did not want to see fade. That was not one thing he didn't want to fade into a memory. Because memories were like drops of water in a desert or a match in the tundra—they weren't nearly enough.

_But_, Draco reminded himself, _we'll get there later_.

* * *

NOTE: Good-bye folks. I hope you enjoyed the ride. I certainly did. I know what I said: no epilogue, no sequel, no more. I actually intended to break them up though and, after reading through the first four chapters yesterday . . . I just couldn't do it. See? Even _I _have a heart. But because of this I'm now all achy to ruin their lives. If you guys would like me to post an alternate ending . . . let me know.

I know, the title doesn't really have much to do with the story . . . but, hey, it's a songfic . . . Maybe one day I'll get around to changing the title. At any rate, I have school tomorrow. Good-night.

New semester (plus) Lyth (equals) A certain guidance counselor getting a very stern talking-to about Lyth's schedule.


End file.
